I must tell you a story, of a very close friend
who overcame hurdles, but lived to the end

I can't say a name, or tell you just where
I've been trusted upon, by a friend whom i care

His hurdles and mountains, he climbed day and night
have broken his mind, but he put up a fight

Losing his father, in the worst kind of way
through alcohol and hatred, yet he made it through the day

A father of anger, suicide and doubt
How one can bare this, I can't figure out

A struggle with life, a barrage of guilt
for we each have a story, which make our hearts wilt.

But this story of burden he carries around
Follows him daily, yet he doesn't make a sound

Judge a book by its cover, and he seems a okay
But the struggle on the inside, slows down his day

Of course this friend, whom I know so well
Is just my own mind, if you couldn't tell

So all in all, I'm doing okay
I put on a smile and face each new day

Some days I'm up, and some days I'm down
But writing a poem is what keeps me around.

Houses sitting condemned, taking up the view
while the old guys sit sipping forties in forty degree
temperatures facing the wall so the wind doesn't burn
their faces too much in what could be called a modest December.

They turn their back to the guy hiding bags of rock
in his lips to avoid detection from the cameras posted
on both street corners. This place is set to a constant sneaking
violin pluck. We are all capers in a burgle commune.

I hung up a tarp today so the stray cats can hide from the wind.
In one stanza, January has set in and it is bitter to the bone.
We summoned the name of old man winter from repetition and
no one man may hold that burden. The ***** only warms their blood.

Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.

Broken,
lost,
hopeless.
We are all ghosts.
Yet we feel the pain, love, and hatred from others.
From everything we once knew.
They're more than just dreams
that never came true.
They're everything I've wanted
and so much more.
And if happiness is
making something
out of nothing.
Then I need to take this... This...
This... Feeling of
nothingness,
and fix what
shouldn't be
broken.

Sometimes, when I say your name,
you wince.
(I want to force you into a corner and press up against you)
Your face in a grimace;
you cringe,
(I want to ravage you savagely)
as if you're in pain.
(I want to turn into sand and bury you alive)
(I want to take these two hands and tear you apart)
It's quite rude, really,
(I want to bite off your lips and devour your heart)
but I don't hold it against you.
It seems involuntary.
(I want to explode on you then swallow what's left)
I think there might be something wrong with you.
(I want to **** all the life right out of your breath)
More than anything though,
(I want to turn into a river and drown you in the flood)
I'd like to know
(I want to spread through your body, bones, and blood)
why.

You, you told me.
You, you show me.
That love could be anything that you personally want it to be.
Except, the absolute object is to be happy.

You, you love me.
You, you give me.
Several kinds of reasons to be love.
And make me determine to give you ever kind of love available.

As much as people blame Eve.
Adam never judged her.
And I never bring judgement upon you.
Cause your love is all I ever knew.

So show me more.
Yes, give me more.
There's never enough love to give.

I heard her sing a silent song.
By the time I'd learned the words,
she was already gone.

She wasn't here for very long,
but I am still haunted by her verse.
I heard her sing a silent song.

It resonated in my bones.
I vibrated with yearning.
She was already gone.

A mute melody to quell the dawn,
and keep the world from turning.
I heard her sing a silent song.

Like a whisper from the moon to hold back the sun,
I close my eyes and I’m no longer sure
if she's really gone.

Imprinted in the earth after the eclipse was done;
her lyrics washed up on the shore.
I heard her sing that silent song,
but she was already gone.